


A Little Time For Celebration

by CupcakeGirlA



Series: A Little Time for.. [1]
Category: Olympics RPF, Real Person Fiction, Speed Skating RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeGirlA/pseuds/CupcakeGirlA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After medaling for the first time in Vancouver, Apolo and JR take a quick moment for a private celebration... in the locker room.... while still in their skinsuits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Time For Celebration

They exit the ice triumphant. Silver and Bronze! 1 & 2 would have been better but 2 & 3 is still fucking fantastic! They’re out of breath, blood pounding through their veins with leftover adrenaline and excitement. JR can’t keep the grin off his face. He’s bouncing in his skates as he walks to sit in the heat box to change into his sneakers. He yanks off his neck guard, unzipping the very top of his suit and bending down to unlace his skates. Apolo sits two chairs down smiling for the cameras but moving quickly. He looks over at JR and laughs. He gets his sneakers on in record time and stands up, walking back up the row, with his skates in hand.

“Stop dillydallying, JR. We’ve got 10 minutes before the on-ice ceremony. We have to get changed.” He smacks JR in the shoulder as he says it. JR laughs, caught up in the excitement and his own emotional rush. He nods, scooping up his gear and following. The other racers are already changing, getting out of sweaty clothes, in a rush to leave. But their row of lockers is empty. JR sets his stuff down on the bench, opening his locker to pull out the navy and white track suit they’re supposed to wear. He lays it out on the bench unsure if this is really honest to God happening. That he’s really going to get to wear that particular uniform and climb up on a podium to receive an Olympic Medal.

 

His musings are cut off by Apolo. Apolo, who is looking around with an anticipatory look on his face, which quite frankly has JR confused. A second later, Apolo has him by the arm, tugging him down the row of lockers and around the corner. JR opens his mouth to protest, but one look from Apolo stops the words in his throat. Apolo pushes him into a dark corner in the back of the locker room, a short cinderblock wall separating them from the rest of the room. Apolo presses close and takes JR’s mouth with his own. JR tenses, not sure what to do. But he’s always been kind of helpless to resist Apolo and within seconds he’s going pliant against the older man, sinking into the kiss and pressing back against him. There’s a slamming of lockers, the sound of feet retreating, and the door to the locker room closing with a heavy bang. Apolo breaks the kiss panting for air. His lips are so red from the rush of oxygen on the ice, and the aggressive press of lips on lips that JR kind of wants to bite them. He resists the urge, biting his own lip in substitution. Apolo laughs quietly.

“Silver and Bronze,” he whispers. He looks so happy in that moment that JR doesn’t think winning Gold by himself would have equaled this outcome as far as Apolo is concerned. Apolo reaches for JR’s partially open suit, pulling the zipper down and tugging the spandex off of JR’s shoulders. JR automatically pulls his arms free, and Apolo lets the top section dangle down, his hands sliding around JR’s sides to rest on his lower back. “We did it,” Apolo whispers. JR nods, pressing forward. He kisses Apolo again, tilting his head and licking across Apolo’s lips. Apolo’s mouth opens to him, and JR surges forward, his hands going up to grip the back of Apolo’s sweaty head. Apolo’s hands tug at the waist of JR’s suit, sliding under the band of JR’s briefs. His hands delve down, gripping the globes of JR’s ass, one in each hand, and squeezing. JR groans, his dick getting harder by the second. Apolo laughs against his mouth, breaking away and turning JR around to face the wall. He presses JR against the painted cinderblock, tugging down JR’s suit and underwear in one hard pull. JR groans, his jaw clenching closed. Apolo tugs his own suit down, pressing his body to JR’s in all the right places. JR gasps, looking over his shoulder.

“Apolo?!” he whispers. “What are you…” he breaks off with a gasp as Apolo presses one slick finger inside of his ass. Apolo chuckles.

“Fucking an Olympic Bronze medalist,” Apolo whispers, like it should be obvious. “I’ve always wanted too. Never had the chance before!” He thrusts his finger in again, making JR groan. One of Apolo’s hands is busy working in JR’s ass, so he slides the other up to grip JR’s right wrist. He stretches it up the wall, pressing it to rest flat against the cool surface, high above their heads. “Keep that there,” it’s an order not a request. The other wrist Apolo presses to the wall as well, but closer to JR’s face. “You’ll have to be quiet,” he warns, pulling his finger free and then returning it, plus a second digit. JR bites back a groan, and unable to respond verbally, nods his head. Apolo chuckles again. “Good boy,” he whispers, pressing the fingers deeper. His finger tips hit JR’s prostate and JR bucks back against him in response.

It’s like time gets fuzzy then. The pleasure builds in JR’s head and body, getting better and better until it suddenly stops. He whines low in his throat. Apolo shushes him. “Just two seconds,” he promises. JR shifts with impatience, wiggling against the wall. But then Apolo’s body is back, his dick thick and hard and slick pressing up inside of JR’s ass. JR groans, muffling the sound against his own wrist. His other fist pounds the wall once, before opening up, his fingers scrambling across the wall for something to hold on to. Apolo presses deep, sighing in JR’s ear. He presses a kiss almost tenderly against JR’s neck. “Ready?” he asks. JR nods. He has no idea what Apolo is really asking, his mind too far gone to reason it out right then. He just knows that he wants whatever Apolo is willing to give him. Apolo’s hands grip his hips, holding tight enough to leave bruises. He holds JR steady, pulling his dick back until it’s almost out of JR entirely before slamming it home again. JR sucks in a desperate breath, flipping his hand over to clamp down on his own mouth. His eyes squeeze closed at the force of the sudden overwhelming pleasure.

Apolo sets a rhythm. It’s fast and hard. Demanding. They’re both so worked up, still high from crossing the finish line and making history together, that it doesn’t take long before they’re both on the brink. Apolo’s rhythm stutters. He presses close again, thrusting hard once, twice, a third time and muffling his own groan against the back of JR’s neck. He pants for air, hands sliding around JR’s waist, his hips still shifting against JR’s ass, even as his dick starts to soften.

The main door slamming open and then closed has them springing apart, Apolo tugging free. JR whines, biting his own wrist again to keep from being heard. He presses his forehead into the wall, his hands still pressed to the wall above his head, where Apolo had pinned them. He pants, still hard as a rock, face flushed with exertion and pleasure and triumph. He hears the rustle of clothing and slowly turns his head to look, his eyes sliding reluctantly open. Apolo’s bouncing on his feet a few feet away, his suit pulled back up around his hips. He has his hands in his hair, combing through the length of it, before he reaches around to retie his bandana. He ducks back around the corner and grins at JR, leaning against the wall beside him.

“That was great!” he says, pecking JR on the lips quickly before backing away again. JR’s mouth drops open.

“Apolo... I swear to God if you don’t,” he’s cut off by the sound of another slamming door and the echo of laughter, foreign voices ringing out from the other side of the locker room. JR groans, hands fisting against the wall again. Apolo’s grin seems to double in size.

“No time. Better get changed quick, Celski. The flower ceremony is in less than five minutes. You’re an Olympic medalist now,” he’s smirking as he claps his hands together twice, “chop chop!” he says. Then he’s gone, disappearing around the corner before JR can get his sluggish brain to think of a response. JR lets his head smack against the wall once in desperation before he reaches down to pull his underwear and suit back up over his erection. He can’t believe this is happening. He’s hard as a rock. Apolo has just fucked him in a public place, where they could have been discovered at any moment. And he has only a few minutes to change his clothes, wipe the just fucked look off his face, and appear on international TV in front of millions of viewers around the world. All so that he can accept his first ever Olympic medal. He is so going to make Apolo pay for this later. When JR gets back to their row Apolo is nowhere to be found.

Three minutes later JR walks out in his podium uniform. He's wiped his face and neck down, changed his clothes, and smiles brightly for the cameras right on cue. He hugs Apolo, shakes Jung-Su's hand, and accepts his flowers, all while praying his still half-hard dick isn't too obvious for the televised audience. It's halfway through the playing of the South Korean National Anthem Aegukga that he feels it. A tickling feeling, creeping down the back of his thigh. He shifts his hips, trying to figure out what it is. When the reality of just what the sensation is and it’s cause hits he has to fight to keep his facial expression from changing.

He’s JR Celski, Olympic Bronze medal winning short track speed skater, and he has Apolo Anton Ohno’s jizz dripping down his left thigh while on international television. He smiles, waving to the crowd, his arm going around Jung-Su's back as they celebrate their accomplishments. But inside he is plotting revenge. Apolo won’t know what hit him.

The End


End file.
